


Scream

by BubblyCeci



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dammit Scott, Episode: s03e11 AU, Fluffy, Good Peter, M/M, Mates, Pack Family, Poor Derek, Unrealistic Description of Panic Attack, sick Cora
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1499053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubblyCeci/pseuds/BubblyCeci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU!Season3Episode11. Stiles is overwhelmed. His dad has been taken for sacrifice, Scott’s abandoned the pack, and everything is too much. He panics, but Peter helps out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scream

**Author's Note:**

> Written while listening to Hedley’s song ‘Scream,’ off their album ‘The Show Must Go.’ Not sure how it worked, considering the differences between the song and the story, but whatever. Some of it fits. Kind of. And I love fluffy Steter. Like, a lot.
> 
> Anyway, I do not own Teen Wolf, and this is Unbeta'd, though I did my best to catch any errors.

            He snarled at the air, slender hands clenching and unclenching into fists. He was angry- so, so angry. Angry at himself for not telling his dad sooner and making him believe, angry at the darach for taking his dad, and angry at Scott for abandoning them when they needed him most. He growled, sounding quite like a werewolf for a human, hands moving from his sides to grip his hair.

            More than he was angry, he was worried, sick to his stomach with it. She had his fucking _dad_ , and he couldn’t help but think it was his fault. If he had never tried to tell his dad in the first place, if he had figured out who she was earlier, if he had never gotten Scott _bit_ …

            He felt hopelessness fill his gut, smother his senses. He sank to his knees on the warehouse’s grimy floor, head still in his hands. Scott had left them, joined Deucalion. Jennifer had murdered Derek in all but body, making him hollow with regret and memories of another woman who had done the same before. Cora was dying, and not only was his dad going to be sacrificed, but Allison and Scott’s remaining parents were, too.

            _‘Fucking fuck,’_ he thought, hysterical. He let out a choked off sob before throwing his head back and _screaming_. All his hurt, all his rage, all his frustration, everything came out in the hoarse call.

            The cry petered off after a second, turning instead to whimpers and wet gasps. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and his body trembled. His breaths turned shallow and quick, and as if looking through a clouded glass window, he recognized the symptoms of a panic attack.

            His whisky colored eyes slipped close, and he tried to calm down. He didn’t have time to pass out, didn’t have time to flip his shit. He needed to see Peter and Isaac and Allison and Lydia and Derek- his pack, his makeshift family- needed to be conscious when they arrived.

            Through the all-encompassing panic, he felt a hand snatch up his own and a voice- so nice, warm and familiar and, on a normal day, soothing- saying something. It was enough to start breaking through the fog, and he focused on the voice with everything he had. Soon enough, he was able to tell it was a man’s, and that it had a worried edge to it.

            “Come on, Stiles, come back to me,” it murmured. He wanted to yell, to say that he was trying, but the interior of his throat was still closed with emotion. The hand on his moved, twisting to hold his wrist, and it was dragged to a warm, dry area of what he recognized to be skin. “You’re not going to be able to look me in the eyes later, being saved by ‘Zombiewolf.’ Such a shame I’m not going to be able to see those beautiful big brown eyes of yours before that. Can you open them for me, Stiles? Slow your breathing to match mine, you can do it. That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Breathe with me.”

            His gasps lessened, his breathing deepened. The voice guided him through the steps like a concerned lover, and he had never felt so safe or comforted during an episode, not even when his mother was alive. Peter’s voice, his mind supplied after he had calmed considerably. Peter was the one helping him. _Peter_.

            His eyes snapped open, and he gave the older werewolf a shaky grin. The man’s face, which had been tense with worry, relaxed, and he returned the grin with a wide smile. It was all warmth and relief and hidden concern for those missing. He took control of his still shaking hands, running the one clasped around the man’s neck up and over to his jaw. His thumb rubbed there in soft circles, and Peter nuzzled into the contact.

            “Thank you,” he mumbled, tone rough. The man nodded, just enough to get his point across and not enough to dislodge his hand. The warmth sparking inside him from his pack member’s earlier comfort turned hotter, brighter. God, did he care for the man- liked him, could love him given time. His other hand slid up and into the silky hair of his companion. “When this is all over, take me to dinner, Peter.”

            The man snorted, amused despite the serious nature of their current predicament. His own hands carded up and through Stiles’ hair, and the younger man leaned over and into the other. “I just saved your life, and you’re asking me to take you out?”

            “Yeah,” he nodded, stilling the action when it made his head spin. Instead, he just crowded closer and laid it on a firm shoulder. “Yeah, I am. I think I could fall in love with you, you know. Easily.”

            Peter sighed, arms dropping to hug the man. He leaned his head against Stiles’ and breathed deep, taking in the younger’s scent- sunshine, the bitter flavor of worry, and the homey odor of fresh baked bread and nutmeg and cinnamon, of _mate_. “Nothing would make me happier, Stiles, than to be able to escort you out for an evening. …And the same goes for me. I could, with ease.”

            “Good,” he whispered, thin lips quirking upwards.

            Things weren’t perfect. His and his friends’ parents were still missing, and Scott was still with Deucalion. Cora was still in danger, and Derek was still broken. But they would win, and they would rebuild. They were pack, and they would help each other through the aftermath, help heal the scrapes and bruises remaining on their psyche. Things weren’t anywhere close to perfect, but they would be.


End file.
